


Alliance

by Annabelle_W



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha Jared Padalecki, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, First Meetings, First Time, M/M, Omega Jensen, POV First Person, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22396624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabelle_W/pseuds/Annabelle_W
Summary: Jared's pack is beset on all sides, leaving him desperately in need of allies.  The mysterious leader of the Corpus Christi pack is a possibility, but he's known for steering clear of pack wars.  And there's something special, something different about him, some secret he's harboring . . . .
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 27
Kudos: 144





	Alliance

**Author's Note:**

> I love the J2 werewolf stories so much that I was inspired to write one of my own. Hope it's fun!

The roar of the engines greets us long before the fleet of motorcycles zips around the final corner of the road and into sight. Six black bikes ridden by six black-clad weres glide in formation to a synchronized stop, six black-helmeted individuals hop off their bikes, five people simultaneously remove their helmets and place them on their bikes before marching into line.

The sixth pauses, studying us though the privacy of his black visor before slowly sliding his helmet from his head. This must be the pack alpha.

Sunlight kisses a head of dark blond hair, highlighting several disheveled strands. Green eyes peer warily from a chiseled face, meeting mine for a thunderclapping moment. He dips his head in a brief acknowledgment of my position as he saunters towards me, his retinue closing ranks around him.

Tall, athletic form. Gleaming leather encasing wide shoulders, dark denim hugging muscular bowed legs, which move with an easy, rolling gait.

And why am I thinking of another alpha in this way?

Jim Beaver, my late father's closest adviser, steps forward. "Welcome," he says, "Would you like to see your rooms before we eat?"

I mentally thank him for remembering protocol while I stood silently beside him, gaping open-mouthed at our handsome visitor. I collect my thoughts, add "I can show you where you'll be staying, if you like, Mr. Ackles?"

The slightest shudder shimmers down his lean body. "Jensen," he insists, in a deep, musical voice. "Mr. Ackles is my father."

Gen steps out from behind me, where she and Misha were whispering about all of the new eye-candy. "Are you related to Alpha Ackles of the Dallas pack?" The abrupt question makes me wince, but Gen's tiny form, wide eyes, and sweet omega scent usually disarm alphas enough to forgive her rudeness, indulge her inquisitiveness. Not this time.

Verdant eyes freeze into green ice. "That would be my father." He huffs a sigh, turns to me. "I would like to see my room, thank you." His rigid demeanor makes it clear any further questions along those lines would be unwelcome. 

I swallow my curiosity about his family situation (especially the detail that I am only aware of Alan Ackles having one alpha son and his name isn't Jensen). "Right this way. We've prepared a suite for you in my house."

"Good." He grabs a bag from the side pocket of his bike, swaggers in the direction I indicated.

I glance around to see if a significant other plans to accompany him--perhaps one of the two beautiful beta women?--but his packmates merely inquire about their own quarters, although the two alphas glare at me as they discuss security with Jim. Still, I frown as I jog to catch up with Jensen.

Why do I care if my new acquaintance is single?

*

The large house I recently inherited stands cold and stately and empty overlooking the river. My mother moved into one of the tiny widows' houses on the outskirts of the packlands after tearfully informing that she could no longer bear to reside in a place with so many memories of her late husband and son. My sister-in-law joined her. My baby sister studies architecture at UT. And I? Am alone. 

At least until I bring home a mate. An omega or a beta female. Not . . . .

Jensen drops his bag carelessly on the floor, pushes open the French doors leading onto the spacious wooden deck, with its railing placed for optimal viewing of the river and the tangled woods beyond, and its wooden stairs down to the bridge.

"Wow," the fearsome leader of the Corpus Christi pack breathes. His steps slow, his head moving from side to side as he takes in the lovely hill country scenery. One bare hand sneaks behind his torso, slides a small box out of his back pocket.

My brain short circuits as my eyes are drawn down to that shapely, denim-covered rear. His jeans hang just tightly enough to cling to the delectable curves. My fingers itch to touch, to caress, to squeeze.

The snick of a lighter jerks me from my lascivious thoughts. I attempt to blink them away, but the sight of Jensen's lusciously full lips curling around a cylindrical object as he sucks in a lungful of smoke does little to help the tightening of my jeans. What's wrong with me? Even if Jensen wasn't an alpha, he still wouldn't be my type. I like small, sweet omegas, not bad boy bikers.

I promptly belie this conclusion by watching helplessly as Jensen's hand glides over his bottom in the process of replacing his pack.

When I look up, Jensen raises an eyebrow at me before turning to lean over the railing while muttering something that sounds perplexingly like "Alphas."

I try to cover my embarrassment by asking the first question that pops in my head. "So how did a kid from Dallas end up in Corpus Christie?"

He shrugs, blows a smoke ring. "Wanted some independence." He tilts his head into the late afternoon rays, dropping his long-lashed eyes shut. "You didn't invite me here to socialize. And I know you didn't invite me because you wanted to get to know the other pack leaders." He sounds scornful as he almost directly quotes my carefully-worded invitation. "So, what's the real reason?"

I rest my elbows on the rail, stare down into the green depths of the river. "Last year, there were seven raids on our lands. Twelve wolves were killed. So, my-my father and my br-brother went on patrol to find out who was attacking us." I grip the rail so tightly my knuckles turn white. "They were ambushed."

Jensen frowns through wisps of smoke. "I hadn't heard that detail."

"We didn't advertise it." I was too ravaged by grief and overwhelmed at my sudden elevation to pack alpha to do more than announce the unexpected loss of my relatives.

Jensen moves closer. "Did you have a spy?"

That gorgeous face is near enough that I could reach out and brush a thumb over those soft-looking lips, trail a finger along that strong jawline and around those cut cheekbones, press my lips against each cinnamon freckle, trace the contours of the lines around his beautiful eyes. Lines that inform me his age must be several years older than mine, close to thirty, maybe. My brother's age. I wince. Or what his age would have been. I close my eyes briefly, collect my thoughts. "Yeah. Yes. One of my father's closest advisers. Tim. Timothy Omundson."

A nod. "I know of him. He's with the Austin pack now, right?"

My fists clench. "Yup." I blink away the tears that started to form in reaction to my bringing up those still so recent memories. "He betrayed us for Pellegrino and now they're looking to take over the San Antonio pack. They think I'm weak." My red eyes probably confirm that sentiment.

Jensen takes one final drag, flicks his cigarette in the direction of the river. "So you want allies to show you're strong and to fight on your side in the case of a pack war."

It wasn't a question, but I nod anyway.

He scowls at his now empty fingers. "Why didn't you ask my father?"

I squeeze my eyes shut. "I did. He didn't respond."

A quiet, humorless laugh. "So, once again I'm an afterthought."

I step forward, grip his shoulder. "No. No you're not." How could he think that when his band of misfits and lone wolves and small packs was able to successfully beat back any pack seeking to overtake them until the Corpus Christi pack is now ranked among the toughest, most feared in the state, if not the country? "We just contacted packs we've had some kind of cordial relationship with first. Yours is kind of too new for that."

"Hmm." He lifts his eyes to mine, long lashes sweeping his cheeks. We're standing so close together, it would just take a slight bend of my head to capture those lush lips. That he's biting as he peers at me.

"Grill's ready!" Chad's cheery voice trills from the side of the house.

We jump apart. Jensen sails away from me as if lifted by a fast wind, leaving only his scent behind. Tobacco, leather, motor oil. And traces of something sweet, ripe.

*

We werewolves of the San Antonio pack prep our grills and marinate our steaks whenever we have the slightest excuse to barbecue, so actual important visitors required not just steak but chicken and pork chops and hamburgers and brats. And Misha and Gen had to collaborate on a concoction combining Italian and Russian flavors into a deliciously new side dish. Jim made his famous BBQ sauce. Kim created a tray decorated with the freshest veggies from her garden. My mother sent over her strawberry-rhubarb pie. Chad sweet-talked his mother into sharing her cornbread recipe. Also, half the pack omegas and betas mysteriously had extra desserts just lying around.

Hey, I'm an alpha were. I can eat an enormous amount.

We decided to keep dinner small, intimate instead of inviting the whole pack for one of our boisterous parties, so it's just Chad, Gen, and Misha, since they're my best friends; Jim because he's my most trusted adviser and my surrogate uncle; Kim because we--the pack--have been trying to set her up with Jim. And me. That makes an equal number of us and an equal number of them.

It seems to be a success. One of Jensen's beta companions, Rich, seems to have joined the matchmaking brigade based on the way he's pushing Jim and Kim together. Misha and Gen flirt delightedly with the two alphas who accompanied Jensen. JD and Chris. Although, the latter seems more interested in Chad, based on the way his gaze keeps sliding up and down my best friend's form. Chad, on the other hand, joyfully chatters with the lovely beta women, Alona and Danneel. He's always insisted that he doesn't care if he's an omega; he still has male anatomy and he loves to use it. Still, I keep catching him sneaking glances at Chris. Hmm.

Beside me, Jensen nibbles on one of the steak fries that were my own contribution to the meal. "Your three closest friends are all omegas?" His tone is indifferent, but tenseness percolates from every ripple of his body.

"Yeah," I respond. "We're all very close."

He snorts, mutters, "Typical alpha."

"Excuse me?" I can't have heard that right.

He finishes his fries, lights up. "You surrounded yourself with pretty, young omegas. Are you going to mate one of them or do you just string them along?"

I stand up, spit, "I grew up with them. That would be like mating my sister."

He rises slowly to his feet. "I see." Skepticism colors his deep voice. He holds out his cigarette pack. "Want one?"

I shake my head. "I don't smoke. Much. And I prefer cigars, anyway." Misha and I used to sneak into Dad's stash before . . . well, before we presented, before everything changed.

I make an excuse about circulating and head for the opposite side of the yard, where Rich has Jim and Kim in stitches. He seems like a far more congenial guest than his judgmental alpha. 

I haven't walked far before another trace of that enticingly sweet scent wafts past my nose.

*

What could it be?

I'm still pondering this two hours later, as I relax on the couch, sipping a beer and snacking on gummy bears. I wish I'd gotten a stronger whiff. I wish I could've just buried my nose in his neck, slinked past his external smells to wallow in that which is purely Jensen.

And my knot is swelling again.

I don't even like him. I don't think. But he just slipped into my brain and made a home for himself, overtaking all of my thoughts and queries and imaginings. I can't stop thinking about him.

Or that tiny tendril of scent that I've smelled only two brief times, but the mystery of which niggles me.

Maybe he uses a fruity shampoo. No. That's not quite right. My wolf thinks I'm smelling omega, which is not an unreasonable assumption, since a handsome pack alpha like Jensen must be surrounded by gorgeous fertile wolves, and he almost certainly has a boyfriend or girlfriend, except--except there's no trace of sex in that scent. My nose always recognizes how, well, active someone has been over the past week, no matter many showers he (or she) has taken. And Jensen has been with no one.

Maybe it's a platonic relationship? Or-

"Mind if I sit here?" The subject of my musings saunters casually into my living room.

"Sure." I straighten my posture, swing my legs off the couch.

Jensen perches beside me, gestures at my candy bag. "May I have some?"

I hand him the bag, reflecting how strange it is that we can be awkwardly formal like the new acquaintances we are one moment--like now--and feel intimately connected during another.

Jensen swallows a gummy bear, appropriates my beer (straight from my hand) to wash it down. "I'm curious about something. Why were you raised with omegas? That seems unusual for an alpha."

He's right. Pack children are typically divided by gender. My brother, for instance, spent most of his lessens with other alphas, learning fighting techniques, strategies, pack dynamics, and diplomacy. As for me, however, "They thought I was an omega." At Jensen's confused reaction, I add, "The ultrasound was inconclusive. The doctor said I was male and probably omega, but I was moving too much for him to be sure if he was seeing ovaries or not. Then something went wrong with the blood test after I was born. They think it might have been contaminated in some way, or maybe switched with someone else's, but they didn't realize it because it only confirmed what they already believed. That I was an omega."

Green eyes stare, his red mouth falls open. "So, what, you spent the next sixteen years preparing to be sold to the highest bidder?" Do I detect a tinge of bitterness in his words?

I steal back my candy. "It wasn't quite that bad. But, yes, I was expected to secure a marriage alliance. Chad and Misha and Gen were chosen from among the best pack families to be my closest friends, with the expectation that, one day, they would move with me to my new pack. Be my assistants or whatever."

Jensen finishes my beer. "Huh." He wipes his mouth. "Your parents must have so overjoyed when you presented as an alpha, instead."

The memory of the day I popped my knot crashes over me. "No. They really weren't." In fact, my father had been introducing me to rotating waves of pack alphas and alpha heirs in hopes that he could mate me off to one of them the moment I concluded my first heat. Also, he spent the entirety of my childhood bragging to anyone who would listen that he had a pack alpha's perfect family: an alpha to inherit his position, an omega to further his power and influence through mateship, and a beta (my little sister) to advise and support her alpha brother but never seek to supplant him. "My being an alpha meant that I was potential rival to my brother. Dad didn't want that. He was so angry when I presented." Our pack clinic still looked like a tornado hit it after my first rut ended and I was able to go out and about again.

A warm palm lands on my thigh. When did Jensen move so close? "I know what it's like to disappoint your father," he says.

This proximity allows me count the freckles on the (slightly crooked) bridge of his nose, to examine the golden flecks in his emerald eyes, to stroke his stubbled jaw as I sway forward-

Jensen leaps to his feet. "I think I'll go for a run. That okay?" The way he tosses the latter question makes it clear that he'll head out whether I agree or not.

I push my unruly hair behind my ear. "Yeah. I have all the borders patrolled so it should be safe." I raise my eyebrows at his silent bristling in response, add, "Though you look like you can protect yourself."

"I can." He stomps into his borrowed room.

I glower at my nearly empty candy bag. That assurance wasn't meant to be offensive. After all, I did invite him here for the purpose of gaining his friendship, so he'll join my side in the event of a pack war with the marauding Austin weres.

Still, I too feel the pull of the moon, even though she won't be full for a few more days. I understand why Jensen wants to get out, to explore my woods, to commune with her.

A streak of silver flashes by and out through the swinging wolf door, accompanied by That Scent. Strong, unadulterated, and undeniably omega.

Jensen.

Omega.

Unmated.

Running.

Chase!

I'm shifted and racing after him before my brain catches up with my actions.

*

He leads me down the stairs, across the bridge, through the trees, over the hills, around the outbuildings. Never slows down, never lets me within yards of his lithe wolf form. Omegas were built smaller and faster than alphas, perhaps as a biological failsafe to (help) prevent their being caught and mated against their will.

Jensen seems to have no intention of being caught. But he also wants me to keep following him, if the flirtatious barks and yips are any indication. As if I could resist his beguiling scent and his unimaginable beauty.

The moon seems to agree, with the way she lends her glow to his silvery coat, making him shimmer in the darkness.

I could pursue him all night, track him all day, accompany him for the rest of our lives. But the presence of the pack alpha never goes unnoticed and we've been out for less than an hour before one of my alpha guards--Tahmoh--feels the need to report to me that his section of the border remains, thankfully, unhindered. By the time I've finished acknowledging his hard work, thanking him for his devotion, Jensen is completely out of sight, his smell dissipating into the wind.

Oh, well. This is my land. He'll have to face me eventually.

*

Twenty minutes later (a straight run takes less time than Jensen's deliberate curves and zigzags), I jog through the wolf door, shift, change into one the robes I keep near the door for situations where I might not want to wander around the house naked. (Pack leaders get so many, many visitors).

Following my nose to the kitchen, I find Jensen leaning against the counter, barefoot, dressed in black lounge pants and matching tee shirt, long legs crossed at the ankle. One hand lightly holds a crystal tumbler of amber whiskey. He takes a sip instead of meeting my eyes.

I sidle closer, splash some liquid into a cup of my own. Seeing his shy demeanor, I decide inquire about a topic other than his designation. "Tell me something: why did you agree to come here if you knew why I really asked you and you didn't intend to help me?"

A slow blink. He wasn't expecting that question. "I wanted to meet the young alpha who was holding together the San Antonio pack when everyone claimed he never could."

I'm flustered. "I . . . I hope I lived up to expectations."

A blink-and-you'll-miss-it smile. "Jury's still out." He swirls his drink, studies it. "My upbringing was about the same as yours except I actually did go into heat at sixteen."

I nod. I figured as much.

"Secretly, though, I snuck into the alpha classes." A brief sparkles lights his eyes. "They were more fun. Don't get me wrong: I like being an omega, but I failed to see why an omega couldn't go to war or lead a pack or anything."

I can't resist a grin. "I remember feeling the same way. I made Jim teach me how to shoot and throw a punch."

He grins back. (Score!) "Anyway, Dad kept introducing me to all these alphas and I kept refusing them and he finally said that he would choose one for me if I didn't pick by the end of the month."

This almost sounds like the plot of a princess movie, but I don't tell Jensen that. "So, what did you do?--How did you end up in Corpus?"

"I told him that I wasn't ready to be mated and, anyway, I don't want to spend the rest of my life as someone's arm candy." He finishes his alcohol, deposits the glass in the sink, perhaps a shade too roughly. "Dad was . . . unbending, so I asked Chris to run away with me."

Chris. The alpha who accompanied him. A surge of jealousy rips through me before I recall the way he was looking at Chad earlier. 

Jensen smirks at the play of emotions crossing my face. "He told me that I really wasn't his type, and that he knew he wasn't mine. But he added that he would follow me anywhere."

"I get why." Did I say that out loud? 

Must have, based on the shy smile and the lowered eyes and the bitten lip. "Long story short, I told Dad I wasn't going to be anyone's brood mare and that I was going to start my own pack. He said 'Prove it,' so I did." 

"That you did." Still, my smiles fades. Because this story has the pervasive theme that Jensen doesn't need (or want) an alpha. Which means I have no chance with him. But--I huff a determined breath--we can still be friends. I clap his shoulder. "I'm guessing he was expecting you to come crawling back within a month."

"And it has been thirteen years!" he crows. Then he kisses me.

I jump back. "What was that?"

He follows. "Something you've been wanting since before you knew I'm an omega." His arms wind around my neck as he whispers in my ear, "I want it, too."

I'm blindingly hard in an instant. If this is all I'm going to get from this independent, powerful, intoxicating, beautiful man, than I will take it. Coherent thought fades as I devour his tempting lips, push him backwards until his back hits the counter. He nips my lips, tears off my robe, scratches and scores my back, wraps his fist around my aching knot.

That's it.

I hoist him onto the counter, and suck on his unmarked neck while releasing my claws to shred his clothes. Ohhhh. That smell spirals into the air now that there's no cloth muting the scent of his gushing slick.

Must taste.

Sweet.

Sweet, but hearty. Filling. Almost wholesome. Like the difference between apple-stuffed pork loin and a bowl of whipped cream.

Like forever instead of right now.

"Jared, Jay," Jensen moans, "knot me."

I rise up, sink into his welcoming heat. Home. This feels like home. If home exudes not just comfort, but crackling pleasure, intense desire, incendiary passion, and the need to pound, pound, pound until-

Hot liquid floods between us as Jensen sighs with satiated joy, melts against me. "Bite me," he murmurs.

Bite that delectable neck? Yes, please! My fangs descend, pierce his fragile skin, as my knot swells to its full girth, locking us together.

In more ways than one.

My post-coital high dissipates as the full weight of my actions hits me. I just mated my guest, who doesn't want an alpha and was probably merely requesting a hickey. Now we're tied forever and he's going to hate me and probably never have sex with me again and that isn't what I should be thinking about and-

"Stop." Jensen brushes my hair off my face, gazes earnestly into my eyes. "Whatever you're thinking, it isn't true. You didn't do anything I didn't want."

"You didn't want an alpha," I remind him.

"Not true. I just didn't want to be mated at sixteen." He cups my chin. "And I wanted control over my life. Choosing my own mate at my own time doesn't remove that."

"But why me?" The only reason why anyone even knows my name is because my older, taller, cooler, stronger brother was killed. 

Jensen raises an eyebrow. "Have you seen you?" 

"Um . . . ."

"Also, I've been paying attention since I got here. You've only been pack alpha for a few months, but your pack is cohesive and happy and proud to follow, even though you're on the verge of war. That's amazing." A quick kiss.

"You're the amazing one," I counter. "You built a strong, war-ready pack from scratch. And I'm sure you know how rare it is to convince alphas and betas to follow an omega. In fact, I've never heard of that happening before."

He grins. "So we're both amazing. By the way, I'm not giving up my pack. And I fully expect to be second-in-command of yours."

"Done."


End file.
